


And Oikawa Says He is Ambitious

by clxude



Series: Shakespeare and Chill [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: I ship Marc Antony and Caesar so much you have no idea, M/M, alternative universe - plays, brutus is oikawa, far too much hath for 200 words of kagehina, hinata is marc antony, kageyama is caesar, the Julius Caesar au no one asked for, they're doing jc for the cultural festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama didn’t know who decided that a joint cultural festival between Karasuno and Aoba Josai was a good idea, but he wanted to personally punch that <em>stellar</em> individual in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Oikawa Says He is Ambitious

**Author's Note:**

> idk where this came from but I tried so pls love me and my stupid drama nerd au
> 
> also I've never read Julius Caesar but I saw it in January and I watched a video about it and google is my friend

beta-ed by [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

* * *

Kageyama didn’t know who decided that a joint cultural festival between Karasuno and Aoba Josai was a good idea, but he wanted to personally punch that _stellar_ individual in the face.

 

The play selected by Sugawara, _Julius Caesar_ by William Shakespeare, had been translated into Japanese, thankfully. Kageyama had read excerpts of the play in his English class before and the entire ordeal had been a nightmare. The first year’s bilingual skills were far from passable, so the archaic language had nearly been the death of his sleep schedule. Even now, with the kana typed neatly on fifty pages, his lines highlighted in orange, he still couldn’t remember them.

 

He sighed, dropping his script and smacking his head on the table. Perhaps, if he sustained enough brain damage, Sugawara-san would be forced to drop him from the cast.

 

“Is Kageyama dead?”

 

He groaned as loud as he could, but Yamaguchi seemed unperturbed.

 

“Maybe Ennoshita-kun and Sugawara-san shouldn’t have made the king an emperor. It’s gone to his head.”

 

“Tsukki, please...”

 

“What?”

 

The setter thought about sitting up and _trying_ to memorize his lines, if only to prove the blonde wrong. But sitting up meant facing Tsukishima, looking up at his haughty glare as he scribbled down tech notes for himself and Yamaguchi.

 

“Really, Yamaguchi. Our _king_ should be able to memorize a few lines. He only has, what, forty-two? His little ‘Great King’ has one hundred ninety-four. Besides, Hinata has been spewing bullshit about how _his_ setter is the best actor in the goddamn production.” 

 

“Tsukki!”

 

 

 

“Can’t you see he’s trying, Tsukki? You don’t even have any lines, so get over yourself.”

 

There was the scuffling of bare feet against the club room mats, before the door swung open and shut. Kageyama heard a sigh. Papers shifted on the table.

 

“He’s just stressed, you know? Tsukki wants everything to go well, since his brother is visiting from college. I know you’re trying; he knew you’re trying. So, just do your best, all right? I’ll calm him down in the meantime.”

 

Yamaguchi’s hand brushed over his shoulder before he, too, left the club room. For a moment, a single solitary moment, it was quiet. He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose and out through his mouth. The air was warm and sticky under his sweatshirt, but the motion helped to calm him down.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally sat up to reface his script and the orange highlighted lines, but his hands no longer shook as he gripped the paper as he stepped forward.

 

_“Let me have men about me that are fat;_

_Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights...”_

...

 

“Again!”

 

Kageyama sighed, tilting his head to glance at Sugawara. The director was sitting in his chair, legs crossed and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

They were running the funeral scene for the fifth time since rehearsals started. Hinata stood over him, clutching his script. Kageyama wasn’t sure how the middle blocker received the role of Marc Antony, or how Daichi and Suga hadn’t booted him from the cast to match his half-assed acting.

 

The ginger’s normally enthusiastic voice stumbled over basic kanji, quiet and muttering over the repeating phrases.  

 

“Hinata, you can do it. Go as slow as you need to, just like you practiced with Ennoshita.” Suga’s mom voice made an appearance, but it didn’t stop Hinata from where he was quivering over the body of Caesar, or kept him from dropping Caesar’s cloak on Kageyama’s face for the nth time.  

 

_“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;_

_I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.”_

The words barely carried through the large auditorium, even with the mic set tucked in his gakuran pocket. But he sounded braver now, with more emphasis behind the words, even if he was nervous.

 

_“The evil that men do lives after them;_

_The good is oft interred with their bones;_

_So let it be with Caesar.”_

He stumbled over the lines, but his voice grew louder, and Kageyama fought to hold back a smile. The action made sense, really, because they were partners, and Kageyama didn’t want to see the face Hinata made whenever his spike was blocked.

 

That was all, really.

 

He still was a fucking horrible actor, but Hinata managed to finish practice with a halfway decent monologue.

 

...

 

“Kageyama-kun?”

 

He looked up from his English grammar notes and empty milk carton to see the casting director.

 

“Ennoshita-san,”

 

“Can I talk to you about the play?” Before the first year was able to answer, he dragged the desk in front closer to his desk. “I choose Hinata for the part of Marc Antony for a reason. I don’t think the majority of the cast and crew realize that. Do you know why?”

 

“No,” Kageyama admitted, blushing slightly.

 

“In _Julius Caesar,_ Antony practically worships Caesar. He loves him, but still admits his faults. Your history with Kitagawa Daiichi, and with Oikawa-san being cast as Brutus, paired with your friendship with Hinata made sense for the part. I was hoping you could use that dynamic in your acting, but if you don’t think so...”

 

“I can do it, Ennoshita-san!” Kageyama would have bowed, had he not been seated at his desk. Instead, he settled for furiously nodding his head.

 

“One more thing, Kageyama-kun. Could you go over Hinata’s lines with him? Sugawara and I have tried everything we can, but I think you would be better for the job.”

 

“Of course.”

 

...

 

Kageyama was fairly certain that, when Ennoshita asked him to help Hinata with his lines, he didn’t mean for it to include volleyballs. But, somehow they ended up in the gym with the ball carriage half empty as Hinata screamed one line of his speech with as much passion as he could summon for each ball he spiked.

 

_“The noble Brutus_

_Hath told you Caesar was ambitious.”_

A _Mikasa_ ball collided with the lacquer floor, straight as an arrow and millimeters from the line. Hinata landed, breathing hard and flushed, but the words sounded true.

 

_“If it were so, it was a grievous fault,_

_And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.”_

 

The words flowed with the motion of the spike, ingrained in the swing of his arm as firm as his heartbeat. They were shaky with his lack of breath, but firm, confident like a Roman senator.

_“Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest–_

_For Brutus is an honourable man.”_

Hinata tossed the ball over Kageyama’s head, and for a split second, the setter’s finger tips touched the ball, for a moment they’re on the court and Kageyama’s heart was still. For a moment, Hinata flew, smacking the ball as hard as he could so it can crash into the floor, breaking the moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

 

The next rehearsal went better than the previous one.

 

_“He was my friend, faithful and just to me:_

_But Brutus says he was ambitious;_

_And Brutus is an honourable man.”_

 

Sugawara-san nodded as Hinata recited his lines, walking around the stage as he waved Caesar’s cloak. Ennoshita smiled at Kageyama, offering a small nod as he was carried off stage.

 

But when Seijoh arrived – _late_ \- it promptly went to shit. They all knew their lines, were confident in their acting capabilities with the exception of a few first years.

 

And when Oikawa arrived after the rest of Seijoh, shit was suddenly _good,_ because _yeah_ , Oikawa could act, and _sure_ , Oikawa could work the stage, but Oikawa demanded the world and was used to getting it, something Karasuno wasn’t used to.

 

“Tobio-chan!”

 

Kageyama’s nails bit into the palms of his hands as he turned to face his former senpai. He didn’t want to see Oikawa Tooru on a volleyball court, let alone at a joint cultural festival. Iwaizumi was there to corral him, but even he wasn’t enough to keep the third year setter down.

 

When Oikawa found a target, a _weakness,_ he eradicated it.

 

“Tobio-chan, I noticed Shrimpy-chan hasn’t improved his acting. That’s quite unfortunate, since – “

 

Oikawa’s head suddenly lurched forward, and a shoe landed on the floor beside him.

 

“Stop bullying other schools’ first years!”

 

“Iwa-chan, so _mean!”_ When he stomped his foot, Kageyama wished he never looked up to him in junior high.

 

It was far from perfect, but somehow, Kageyama could make it work.

 

...

 

_“He hath brought many captives home to Rome_

_Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.”_

The final rehearsal was a train wreck.

 

Yachi stood beside Kageyama, playing with the hem of her dress. The curtain rolled open slowly and the lights flickered on as Daichi yelled _‘action’_ from the wings. He couldn’t make out much of her face in the half light of the dressing room, but her cheeks were blushed pink from stage makeup and nerves.

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki were on stage, yelling curses at Caesar and commoners alike.

 

_“Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself_

_into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday,_

_to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.”_

A Seijoh first year spoke, almost as nervous as Hinata. Makki quickly followed though, covering with his joking and coy attitude.

 

_“Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?_

_What tributaries follow him to Rome,_

_To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?”_

He carried on and Mattsun came after, dragging Caesar straight to Hell with smiles that were unafraid to flirt with the devil. By the time they walked off stage and Yachi was gripping his hand, Kageyama was beginning to wonder if Hinata had telepathically transferred his stage fright.

“Kageyama-kun?” Yachi’s hand tightened for a moment before letting go completely. “It’s just a practice, right? There’s no reason for us to be anxious.”

 

The blonde was right. She always seemed to be right, these days.

 

“None at all.”

 

They walked out of the dressing room, heads high as they entered the wings. Once Daichi gave the signal for them to make their first appearance, everything faded away. It wasn’t scary; it was a typhoon, and they had learned to swim.

 

...

 

They were in the gym again, shouting lines of Shakespeare as volleyballs careened through the air. The motion and words had grown familiar, easy and satisfying every time Hinata jumped.

 

_“Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?”_

Makeup started in an hour, and both of them knew Daichi and Sugawara would be displeased when they showed up sweat soaked. But, they kept playing, practicing lines.

 

They kept playing, and Kageyama began to wonder when Hinata’s skin shone line moonbeams every time his shirt rose up in a jump.

 

...

 

Ennoshita gripped his jaw as he applied foundation a shade too orange.

 

“I’m glad you helped Hinata so much with his lines. Sugawara-san and I had begun to wonder if we miscast.”

 

“Hmm,”

 

“Has anyone ever told you that we become our characters? Over time, we grow together until the line between acting and your own behavior begin to grow thin.” His voice seemed delicate and unsure in the quiet room as he spread makeup across Kageyama’s chin.

 

“But for you, that line barely existed to begin with, isn’t that right, Kageyama-kun?”

 

The setter jerked away from the makeup sponge like he had been burned.

 

“I’m not a tyrant, if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“I know you’re not, and neither was Caesar, depending on your perspective. He wanted to make Rome strong, but war doesn’t give you friends. You tried and gave your all to win. Does that make you a tyrant?”

 

“No,”

 

They relapsed into silence, and Ennoshita continued to apply makeup like nothing had happened.

 

Kageyama didn’t mind.

 

...

 

He could hear people moving in the audience. It wasn’t loud – heavy curtains blocked out most of the noise – but it was still there, an ever present hum at the back of his consciousness.

 

Kageyama sat atop the tribune platform, dangling his feet a few inches off the ground. It was dark on the stage, empty and hallow. Daichi was calling orders from the wings; Oikawa was yelling over him; Yachi was panicking about a minute tear in her dress.

 

None of that mattered though, when the cultural festival was happening on the other side of pressed velvet. None of that mattered though, when Hinata was missing, most likely in a restroom somewhere.

 

He took a deep breath before leaping from the wooden structure, landing softly before heading to the wings. Hinata would be fine, Kageyama would be fine, the joint Karasuno-Seijoh volleyball clubs’ production would be fine.

 

...

 

_“Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home.”_

 

Kageyama watched the first scene from the wings.

 

Makki and Mattsun moved like they were born for the stage, acted with the same confidence they played volleyball.

 

_“But wherefore art not in thy shop today?_

_Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?”_

They spoke their words with careless civility, throwing every ounce of hate for a millennial-old man they could muster. By the time they waltzed off, dragging banners and streamers worshiping an emperor, they had won over every would be Caesar supporter in the room.

 

...

 

Daichi’s hand was firm against his back, shoving him gently into the light. Yachi and Hinata stood by him, along with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, Kindaichi and Kunimi.

 

_“Calphurnia!”_

His voice held firm, even as five hundred people watched him, unmoving in the half-light.

 

_“Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.”_

Kunimi sounded as lazy as he ever did, but with a hint of sarcasm, his lethargy almost seemed intentional with the role.

 

They moved through the second scene, calm with fitting emotion and well-practiced verses.

 

By the time Yahaba entered and warned Kageyama of the Ides of March, the stage was his home.

 

...

Eventually, Kindaichi and Oikawa stood alone on the stage together. The stage was dim, but so _bright,_ with their echoing voices.

 

Rebellion crept into every inch of Kindaichi’s words, leading Oikawa, leading _Brutus,_ into the bloody darkness. 

 

_“I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.”_

Oikawa’s smirk was obvious as he spoke, but he stayed true to his character. But Kindaichi dragged him into the plot, Cassius dragged him into the conspiracy.

 

Kunimi appeared and backed Kindaichi, leaving Kageyama, who was watching with Yachi from the wings, to wonder if he had ever really left Kitagawa Daiichi.

 

...

 

_“Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:_

_When it is lighted, come and call me here.”_

Oikawa’s smile gleamed in flashing light. The sound of rain filled the auditorium, thundering from the speakers. Kyoutani frowned at the order, but followed it anyway.

 

_“I will, my lord.”_

When the other conspirators came to the stage, Oikawa moved like a king, an aristocrat with blood stained hands and a passion for heads. And when they left, he was a god, as fearsome as he was on the court the moment if service ace struck home. Even Iwaizumi in a vibrant blue dress wasn’t enough to shake him, only leaving him with stronger words and harsher actions.

 

_“Is Brutus sick?”_

 

Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, clutching the hem of Oikawa’s robe. He was talking quickly, begging and praying and _screaming._ It was every time Oikawa’s knee failed him, every time he didn’t sleep to memorize a match.

 

_“Upon my knees,_

_I charm you, by my once-commended beauty.”_

It wasn’t his universe, Kageyama realized when the first tear dripped off of Iwaizumi’s chin and his words quivered. This wasn’t for him or the cultural festival, but for Iwaizumi and Oikawa alone, a silent promise for the end of the world and a love eternal.

 

_“O ye gods,_

_Render me worthy of this noble wife!”_

...

 

_“Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,_

_'Help, ho! they murder Caesar!' Who's within?”_

The stage felt alive underneath him. The floor hummed with the vibration of his words, echoing around the room. It felt peaceful, strange enough, to talk in an archaic tongue while two high schools watch him. It was no worse than playing Oikawa-san or Ushiwaka, and it’s miles easier than shoving words down Hinata’s throat as they sweat in the gym.

 

Something about it was easy, slow and lethargic as Yachi stood beside him in a gold threaded dress, her small hands just barely brushing his knuckles. She begged him to stay home from the capital with sad words and tears, but it was still _Yachi,_ with her sunshine blonde hair and excited movements.

 

Ennoshita-san was right; characters become part of a person, another layer of their personality bundled tightly until you can’t tell when one starts and the other begins.

 

_“When beggars die, there are no comets seen;_

_The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”_

...

 

The entourage to the capital moved like a funeral march. They surrounded Kageyama like storm clouds, dragging their emperor through the streets like captured pray on a fox hunt, promising Rome a future worth years of bloodshed, offering perfection like low hanging fruit.

 

It was easy to bring him to his doom – Caesar’s pride was synonymous with Kageyama’s.

 

_“Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,_

_In which so many smiling Romans bathed,_

_Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck_

_Reviving blood, and that great men shall press_

_For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance.”_

Oikawa was Brutus through and through, with sugar-sweet words and wine-red oaths. And Caesar was helpless, trapped in an arachnid’s silken web.

 

...

They all stood on the stage – Kageyama, Oikawa, Kindaichi, Kunimi and several other Seijoh first years. They’ve reached the halfway point.

 

Kageyama took a deep breath.

 

_“The ides of March are come.”_

 

Yahaba nodded, twirling his robes as he turned to face the audience.

 

_“Ay, Caesar; but not gone.”_

Kageyama could sense the foreboding, knew the entire room could feel the foreshadowing. It was not gone, far from it, and his toga was still starched white.

 

They continued their stiff march to the senate. Several of the first years spoke, hurried lines that Oikawa scoffed at.

 

They reached center stage.

 

_“I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar.”_

The Great King winked as he spoke, his back to the crowd and on his knees, peering up at Kageyama with harsh eyes.

 

It carried on, and Kageyama backed himself into a trench, down a path he cannot escape.

 

_“What, Brutus!”_

He was trusting, far too trusting as he stepped back on the wooden stairs, standing above the rest of his _friends,_ above them like a king, above them like a god. He’s too trusting, and he’s far too high to survive the fall.

 

_“The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks,_

_They are all fire and every one doth shine,_

_But there's but one in all doth hold his place.”_

Kindaichi always has spoken like it’s a taunt, but it struck like a razor when you considered their history and the plastic blade concealed in the folds of his toga. They’re old friends with betrayal, and the expression on Kageyama’s face was only partly due to acting.

 

They’re on their knees, watching him.

 

First, there was a shy first year, with bright red cheeks to match flaming hair.

 

_“O Caesar, - “_

 

Kageyama knew how to hedge a bet, and he knew this one would fall through.

 

_“Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus?”_

 

Oikawa’s next. Nothing new. He knew the sting of Oikawa’s punch, and the feeling will not leave him soon.

 

_“Great Caesar, - “_

Kageyama was long familiar with the taste of an insult. But this wasn’t dumbass, and this wasn’t Hinata after he mistimed a receive.

 

_“Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?”_

Kunimi was the first to jump to his feet, with flashing steel and fiery words.

 

_“Speak, hands for me!”_

Kindaichi followed a second after him, ripping open the squib and dumping blood down Kageyama’s back. It was cold and wet, slidding down his skin, and the smile that crossed Kindaichi’s face had crossed through the void, straight from their final game in middle school.

 

By the time Oikawa stood and stalked his way up to Kageyama, the younger setter was sinking to his knees. Oikawa leaned forward, gripping his chin. Kageyama could feel his warm breath pass over his cheek bones.

 

“Farewell, kouhai.” It’s for them alone, and Kageyama wonders if his senpai managed to slip a legitimate blade past Tanaka and the rest of the props crew.

 

_“Et tu, Brute!”_

The moment felt significant as he fell against the stairs and the wood pressed against his spine. It felt bigger than Shakespeare as Oikawa wiped his knife on Kageyama’s face and turned to face a roaring crowd.

 

_“Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!”_

_I don’t think you are a tyrant, Kageyama-kun._

_I can keep a promise, Ennoshita-san, I swear._

...

 

There was something terrifying about staring at the rigging as it dangled above Kageyama’s head. It swayed slightly in an undetectable breeze, back and forth, back and forth, back and _forth._

Something about it drew him in, tightening its grip on his focus as Oikawa spoke.

 

_“Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech_

_Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark Antony,_

_By our permission, is allow'd to make.”_

Hinata’s moment was coming, approaching ever faster as Brutus walked off stage, trailing voices of the empire. Mattsun and Makki screamed from the wings, calling and taunting and teasing as Hinata stood before the funeral pyre.

 

Another voiced joined in – gentle Asahi, supported Antony as the crowd slowly shifted opinions.

 

_“Let him go up into the public chair;_

_We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.”_

Hinata stood firm, surveying the crowd. He was proud, a proper leader world’s away from the first rehearsal.

 

_“When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:_

_Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.”_

Kageyama knew the words by heart now, every twist of Hinata’s tone through the course of the monologue. He knew it in the same way he knew the ginger’s spike, the same way he knew his jump, the same way he knew his heart.

 

_A corpus’ heart shouldn’t beat like this._

_A setter and his ace, an ace and his setter._

_A corpus’s heart shouldn’t beat this fast, as fast as Hinata’s spike._

His toga felt far too warm when Hinata’s fingers brushed over an exposed collar bone to grip at a squid-stained cloak.

_“Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;_

_And Brutus is an honourable man.”_

He drifted from the pyre; Kageyama could feel the vibrations creeping up his back.

 

_“You all did see that on the Lupercal_

_I thrice presented him a kingly crown,_

_Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?”_

Hinata was honest, breathed truth with every minute movement. It was obvious in his voice, in his fluid steps that he had always supported Kageyama, even in the middle of their most heated fight, and always would.

 

_“Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;_

_And, sure, he is an honourable man.”_

Oikawa was honorable. He fought for his position, for recognition, or a team that would never win. And yet, he was bitter.

 

_We’re all a bit bitter. You know it best._

Junior high had taught Kageyama well.

 

_“I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,_

_But here I am to speak what I do know.”_

Hinata was always there for him, from the first set to the final spike, through win and loss, victory and mishap.

 

_“You all did love him once, not without cause:_

_What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?”_

 

Hinata was his sword, cutting through enemies with swift determination. Kageyama was his king, loyal and just and forever his.

 

_“O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,_

_And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;”_

Until the last spike, the final set, the final game; Kageyama would never let go.

 

_“My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,_

_And I must pause till it come back to me.”_

Love was fickle, stranger than being covered in squib blood, foreign and awkward and Kageyama wanted _more._

...

Brutus and Marc Antony have been ripped apart and blood coated the streets and battle fields, but Kageyama felt like he’s been sewn back together.

 

_I could keep four-hundred-year-old phrases locked inside my heart; I swear to be faithful. I swear to keep this moment in my memory, the moment you admitted my faults and stayed by my side._

...

 

They sat side by side in the dress room, Kageyama and Hinata. They were squashed together in a chair, and Kageyama could feel every inch of Hinata’s thigh pressed against his skin like he had been burned, like lightning had struck his skin.

 

They had a scene and one half until Kageyama would become a ghost, more than enough time for Kageyama’s mouth to dry and his heart to race, and more than enough time for Hinata to remain obvious.

 

He could make out Oikawa and Kindaichi’s voices though the air vent. He wondered for a second if they, too, would be able to hear him.

 

_“I have as much of this in art as you,_

_But yet my nature could not bear it so.”_

 

The middle blocker shifted suddenly, riding up his costume and moved out of the way, leaving exposed flesh against Kageyama. A single layer of cotton kept them apart. Kageyama’s skin felt alive.

 

“You did really well in the funeral scene.” That was _safer,_ safer than holding his breath until he passed out.

 

“Of course I did! I’ve always been a great actor.”

 

“No you haven’t, dumbass!” He smacked Hinata shoulder, but he just dissolved into quiet laughter before resting his head on Kageyama’s shoulder.

 

“It helps that I had such a good teacher.”

 

Kageyama’s cheeks were instantly bright red. He couldn’t see to look away from his reflection, or Hinata’s face pressed against his shoulder, so he settled for closing his eyes.

 

“Shut up, dumbass.”

 

Hinata moved again, peeling away the sleeve of the setter’s toga so his face was on bare skin, dragging his exposed thigh against the thin sheet.

 

The actions were hard to decipher; everything with Hinata was. He was an idiot, over expressive with everyone until affection bled into normal social habits. But bare skin was different, and Kageyama didn’t know how far he could go before Hinata knew who’s heart he held in his palm.

 

_“If at Philippi we do face him there,_

_These people at our back.”_

He still had time, far too much time before he had to make his appearance as a ghost. Hinata was too close, _too close._ His skin was burning, lighting another bonfire in his chest every time Hinata shifted in the chair.

 

“Stop fucking moving so much,”

 

“But the chair is so uncomfortable!” Hinata whined, and pressed further into Kageyama’s side. “Besides, the play gets really boring at this part. I could at least try to sleep through it.”

 

“And I have to be your pillow, why?” Finally reopening his eyes, he glared down at the shorter boy.

 

“Why not?”

 

_Because I love you and my skin feels like fire every time you touch me._

“Because you’re going to drool on me.”

 

_“No more. Good night:_

_Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.”_

“Hey! My drool is cute!”

 

Kageyama rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” But, he still lifted his arm, leaving enough room open for Hinata to duck under it, head against Kageyama’s chest.

 

Hinata’s fingers gripped at the edges of his toga, tugging it down slightly as he tried to become more comfortable. Kageyama didn’t mind, he swore he _didn’t mind,_ because he didn’t mind like _that,_ but he did _mind._

Kageyama pondered if it is possible to get sunburn from cuddling with the human embodiment of the sun.

 

(Kageyama hoped not. He wanted to do this more; it would be unfortunate if he was diagnosed with skin cancer at an early age.)

 

...

 

“We need to head back soon,”

 

They’ve been like that for what seems eons, and Kageyama’s cue was arriving soon. He didn’t want to get up, to lose the warmth Hinata emits. This was safe, cuddling and sharing seats. There was nothing wrong with it, or anything else between them. They’re _friends,_ and it didn’t matter if Kageyama kept yearning for more.

 

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. The phrase wasn’t even made up of words anymore as much as sounds mushed together and shoved inside his mind.

 

Hinata sighed, trailing his fingers over his setter’s legs as he stood.

 

_This is easy. This is safe._

It’s a lie, though. Anyone could tell you that, and Kageyama was beginning to wonder why he still tried to hide it with how much of himself Hinata throws at Kageyama. He’s close enough to touch, close enough to keep.

 

Kageyama wasn’t sure when this became love, but it did, and now he was standing in a dressing room while Oikawa screamed for war while wearing a bedsheet, and he wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss his best friend, but he _can’t,_ because that’s not easy, and it’s not safe, and the repercussions are bigger than he wants to face when there’s two years of high school left.

 

“Kageyama?” And that _hand_ slipped into his, warm and rough with calluses. “You look constipated. No ghost ever has that expression.”

 

_“I should not urge thy duty past thy might;_

_I know young bloods look for a time of rest.”_

 

“Shut up,” he muttered, but his heart isn’t in it. Hinata picked up on it with ease.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

_About you, and how I can never quite decide the shade of your eyes. I don’t think you’ve ever realized it, but you’re my Helen. You could start a war and I would never question it, never stop to think before I was fighting to stay by your side._

“About how Oikawa is a prick.”

 

Hinata pointed an accusing finger at him, angrily whispering, “You’ve expanded your vocabulary! Without telling me! And, you’re using the word to describe the Great King!”

 

Kageyama sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get to the wings soon, before Daichi started hunting his head.

 

“Hinata,”

 

“Kage _yama,”_ Hinata took a step forward, gripping the setter’s wrist tightly.

“I need to go out there, soon.”

 

_“I will not hold thee long: if I do live,_

_I will be good to thee.”_

He had a minute until his cue, maybe two, but Hinata was staring up at him, biting his lip and glaring. Kageyama was so far gone for this boy.

 

“Why don’t I get a special nickname?”

 

_“This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber,_

_Lay’s thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,_

_That plays thee music?”_

“Hinata, come on,” Kageyama had _seconds;_ he couldn’t deal with this.

 

“No, you come on!” His fist grasped Kageyama’s shoulders, slamming him against the wall. “You keep acting like this! I keep giving you whatever you want, and you never do anything in return!”

 

Kageyama felt his breath stilling in his chest. Music seeped into the room.

 

“And I don’t know what the fuck you want from me!” Hinata is breathing hard, and his hands shake. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

 

The music stilled again, and Kageyama can faintly hear Kindaichi over the pounding of his heart.

 

“So what is it that you want, Kageyama?”

 

_Why are you holding back?_

“What’s stopping you?”

 

_Just say the words._

“You. You asked what I want, and it’s you.”

 

It’s silent for a moment – even the music has faded. His cue was coming soon and Daichi would be looking for him, but Hinata’s hands were trailing down his chest before tugging him down.

 

When their lips touched, Kageyama swore he finally understood every romance novel a girl every told him about.

 

Hinata’s hands roamed across his chest as their mouths move together. Hinata was a beast, hungrily nipping and biting at Kageyama’s lips. They both know there wasn’t time now to make out in the dressing room, so they made the most of it.

 

Kageyama’s hands tugged at Hinata’s hair, drawing out moans until the ginger’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

 

_“I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night.”_

His back arched and he kissed harder. His tongue brushed at the corner of Hinata’s mouth, kissing it open.

 

_“Let me see, let me see;”_

Kageyama pushed Hinata away and shoves the door open, tripping over his toga. His lips sting, bruised red and matching Hinata’s.

 

...

 

He fucked up his lines, and walked off stage with Oikawa’s triumphant smirk burned into his mind. But Hinata was waiting for him in the wings, eyes shining.

 

It didn’t matter to Hinata or Kageyama, Daichi or Sugawara or Ennoshita. Oikawa was the only one who cared that he changed a touch of inverted word order, but they’re twisted even more when Hinata kissed him to an early grave in the club room once _Julius Caesar_ is finished.

 

Yeah, Ennoshita was right. Hinata was always a bit like Marc Antony, loyal and loving until the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 4/7/16: Thank you for reading! In all honestly, I didn't expect this amazing on of response. I really enjoyed writing this, and you seemed to enjoy reading it, so I decided to make it a series. Request for plays and pairing are open, and I'll be extremely happy to work on them :)


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